


Devious Desires

by CrazyScribbles



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Game of Thrones RPF
Genre: And her name is Jocelyn, F/M, Fem!Robert Baratheon - Freeform, Gender Bender, Robert is a girl in this fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:07:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23958148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyScribbles/pseuds/CrazyScribbles
Summary: Jocelyn Baratheon rages as the Storm rages in her castle when roused, while her laughter is of the moonlight that stirs the sea. Deaths and darkness standing as a veil, she is walked down the aisle to wed a doomed Prince, who hasn't got it in him to love or be happy. Yet, they walk... to reach an unknown destiny, hands together.
Relationships: Rhaegar Targaryen/Original Female Character(s), Robert Baratheon/Rhaegar Targaryen
Comments: 20
Kudos: 68





	1. The Iron Guantlet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lyannathewolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyannathewolf/gifts).



> I just couldn't stop writing this. I wanted to take this story romantically. Enjoy and let me know if you liked.

The storm had only recently subdued, allowing him to finally set foot outside the stone walls of the Keep, without having to worry about water drenching his folded breeches. Jocelyn, his elder sister, although hated stitching in the first place, had done in her best of efforts to stitch up embroidery his new black velvet doublet, with a golden-crowned stag to decorate. Stannis didn’t want to dirty her sister’s gift. Although, he wondered if it was the only suit she had ever stitched, for the sleeves were of wrong proportion and the collar was half-made. Nevertheless, Jo had done it with love and how much ever messed up her work was, Stannis was glad to put it on.

Still, he was a little worried about what Jo would say if she discovered the truth of the small stain that came out of nowhere and stuck to his elbow. Ah… never mind, she probably wouldn’t notice the details. Had she done, she could have seen how the golden-crown lacked three spikes in the first place. In fact, Stannis was even happier that she didn’t try stitching a turtle next to the crown as she had promised him last time. He was sure the turtle of Estermont would become sea-horse of Valeryon with the artwork of her hard fingers.

“Those hard hands are not suited for stitching”, her father had proudly admitted once, to his Mother’s rue. And Stannis himself was a standing witness. He had seen five name-days, yet his father hadn’t deemed him fit to lift a wooden-sword. But Jo had helped him learn by secretly playing with clubs.

She had boasted, “I started training as a three-year-old, Stannis. If mother hadn’t found me beating up that kitchen lad, who measured up the scullery maid’s ass, I would have got my blunt blade from the master-at-arms.”

Oh, how Stannis hated when Jo would use crass words with no qualms of behaving like a lady! A lady was not supposed to use such undignified words. Stannis was aware, that much. But, Jo disobeyed everything and sometimes, his father would give it a pass, because his father, Steffon Baratheon, loved his first-born daughter more than Stannis himself. That was fine. Even Stannis loved Jo. Who wouldn’t love her? She laughed like Storm and had a charming smile that could make no one yell at her, except their mother, Cassana, who was hell-bent on bringing a lady out of his sister. _Good luck with that, Mother!!!_

He finally found his sister, in the Smithy of the castle, where hot breeze gave a warm welcome to the cold morning air. She was sitting next to the smith, Donal Roye, her legs pulled up to her chest, the long black braid brushing the dirt of the stone floor, and they both were sharing japes, administering the detail of something that Donal was holding in hand.

“Do you think, you can make one for me?” Stannis overheard Jo asking the Smith with sadness laced, all the smiles dead on her lips.

“Your father might hang me, my lady, if he finds me arming his gentle little lady.” Donal casually said, and moved the bright new long sword, with a Stag pommel in its hilt, aside. The steel was hard and heavy. Stannis believed he wouldn’t be even able to lift it, given the chance.

Suddenly, they both broke into a thunder of laughter. Stannis never understood why people laugh with her, for no good reasons. “Gentle!, Donal? Oh… I hope someone rescues this gentle little girl when I break your nose next time.”

Stannis’s nose scrunched up, unable to tolerate his sister who was challenging grown-up men. “Jocelyn!” Stannis yelled, his stern voice, determined. Although he was younger to her by two years, he would one day become the lord of Storm’s End. When her sister turned, the smile unchanging he started grinding his teeth, controlling his anger. “Father has been seeking your presence. Come with me.”

“We can meet him sometime later. Come here, Stannis. Look at this sword Donal made for our Lord Father.” She said, lifting that long sword with not much difficulty. Stannis was determined to yell at her. But curiosity got the best of him, and he wanted to check if he was as strong as his sister. After all, he was a boy, and she was a girl. So, it shouldn’t be much of a challenge.

To his disappointment, the sword tip kissed the ground when he tried to lift it above, and suddenly his cheeks started flaring in embarrassment.

“Here, let me help you,” Jo said coming close, but Stannis threw the sword away, staring bewildered between Donal and his sister, wondering when they would crack up a joke, mentioning his failure.

“I don’t need your help.” He stomped his leg on the ground. “You are supposed to sing songs in the garden and stitch clothes with girls, not visit men in the Smithy.”

“And you are supposed to swing a sword. You can’t even lift one.” Jo mocked him instantly, just like he assumed. “Now, maybe we can exchange our weapons and our garbs too,” Jo said so spitefully, that it made Stannis regret of how he behaved.

She left him alone and ran to the castle, probably angry. As easy as she was to laugh, she was easy to get scorned too. Huffing aloud, Stannis dragged the heavy sword and gave it over to Donal, who was not so glad to look at Stannis, the boy who made his little gentle lady upset.

“She trains you with a club. Ain’t she milord?” Donal made a crude slight and Stannis folded his arms across, staring down at the smith.

“She is a lady and soon she will stop swinging a club.”

“Aye… When her hand is made for a real weapon, why play with a club? Like a true steel, maybe. No! A hammer... War hammer will fit her stature and strength.”

Stannis never liked defiance. “I am glad there are no wars ahead, Donal. Else my father will lose Storm’s End trusting in my sister’s war hammer and your wooden clubs.” He spat, grinding his teeth.

Donal Noye was a strong man and so far, Stannis only had his suspicions on who might have helped Jo in training. It was clear as crystal, now. The man understood the implications of training a lady with steel and swords. If something befalls on Jo, his head would be placed on a block. Sensing the truth, the man became silent and started whetting an additional set of swords, before Stannis took his leave.

When Stannis arrived at the Great Hall to break his fast and meet his father, Jo was already sitting atop their Lord Father’s lap, probably spewing venom about him. He took his place next to his mother, who was not so happy about his sister’s behavior. He could sense it with the way his lady mother glared at Jo.

“And he said, I should not be visiting men in the Smithy…” Jo complained to their father, her lips forming a pout, forehead crunched curiously to listen to their father’s impending punishment on Stannis.

“At least one of my children has a sense of responsibility and duty.” Lady Cassana made a snarky remark, and both father and daughter glowered on her.

“Stannis!” His father bellowed, voice thick with anger. His father never was a soft man, hard as iron, and Stannis wished to grow up like him. Except for this matter of always taking Jo’s side, Stannis idolized him. “Jocelyn is your elder. If she is speaking with Donal, it is her due. You will not insult her in front of others.”

“Yes, father,” He simply accepted.

“Aye… Your dear Jocelyn will beat up a stable boy and a kitchen lad, and it will all be her prerogative as long as she resides in this castle, and in her father’s lap, my Lord. Once she reaches her womanhood, will her husband place her on his lap and admonish the men of his house for her brashness?” Lady Cassana retorted.

“I will never leave this castle or my father’s lap.” Jo let out an unceremonious snicker, as she rested her head against their father’s chest making faces at their lady mother. Lord Steffon laughed at her foolishness, instead of correcting the problem at hand.

“Look what you have done, Steffon!” His mother’s eyes were popping out. “How do you expect me to correct her, if she is going to behave this unruly?”

“She will grow out of it, Cass.” Her father ignored his mother’s concern once again.

“Father!” Jo called, with all her girl’s charms peeking out. “Will you take me for hunting with you, today?”

His mother was already bristling. “Well, then I suppose, I will have to attend your stitching lessons, young lady. Your Septa will be-”

“Just for one day, Cass. There is nothing wrong if a lady hunts and hawks. She takes after my mother, Rhaelle. You never knew her, unlike me. When she served as a cupbearer here-”

Stannis began focusing on his meals, instead of hearing the same old story about his father’s lady mother for the thousandth time. He knew it by heart and somehow Jo became a replacement to Lady Rhaelle in their father’s heart and received additional privileges for being improper. His mother’s heels were tapping the stone floor below, which meant she was getting frustrated with his father’s extra doting on his daughter.

His mother was a formidable woman. An Estermont by birth, who overlooked the duties of the castle and Stannis got his mother’s favor, just as Jocelyn got their father’s. And he knew why she was fretting.

“I wonder, what will you do, when one day, your daughter really turns out to be your mother and is sent to the royal family to wed the Prince?” His mother blurted anxiously. “Do you think your cousin will find your daughter sufficient for his son?”

“Cassana!” His father’s voice boomed, and it was not a pleasant one to hear. He was in agitation.

This information was completely new to Stannis. Even Jo blinked twice before turning to their mother and father continuously. “What did she mean by sending to the royal palace?” Jo asked, and Stannis waited eagerly for his father’s answer.

Lord Steffon’s raging storm eyes settled finally on his curious sister and he made her slip out of his lap. “Why don’t you go get dressed up for hunting? I will take you once me and your mother have a private conversation.”

Jo nodded, waiting for their father to dismiss Stannis too. But their father didn’t give him leave. With a frustrated scowl, Jo left alone to her chambers, and something close to smile appeared on Stannis until he heard his booming voice of his father.

“That was imprudent, my lady. She is a seven-year-old child. It is not wise to speak about-”

“I am being pragmatic, my lord, unlike you, who will not see the truth for yourself.” His lady mother coolly disregarded his raging father. “We receive news every day about your cousin and his rule in King’s Landing. Yet, you will not open your eyes.”

“What matters to us, if his rule is getting worse, every day. It is in his hand and his hand’s hand. Why would he call my daughter to be his cupbearer? My mother was betrothed to my father, and so she served as cupbearer in this castle, made quick friends, and left before her time. Just as my father.”

Stannis sensed the sadness in his father’s voice. He had heard the tales of Lord Ormund Baratheon’s valor during the war of ninepenny kings when Maelys the monstrous gave the fatal blow to the then Storm’s Lord. His father often mourned of Lord Ormund’s death, which made even Stannis uncomfortable.

“I meant the same, my lord.” His mother announced clearly, bringing his father’s attention to the table. “If the King wants your daughter to get betrothed to his son…”

“That will not happen.” His fist slammed against the table, knocking out a cup of wine down to the carpet. “The Targaryens wed their own siblings. Aerys will not ask that of us.”

“The last I heard, Queen Rhaella’s daughter died in her cradle. Didn’t the missive ask you to bring both your children to the capital now? It could be just to know the children of his cousin, I am sure. But if your King wishes, then our daughter can become Queen one day and her children will rule the Kingdoms-”

“Stop it, Cassana.” His father bellowed before raising from his chair. “No matter what happens, I will not lose another of my family to the Targaryen madness. I lost both my parents to their carelessness and absurdity. You remove this idea of seeing your daughter as a Queen.” He walked away. Not before he left the Great Hall his father thundered with a maddening voice, “You will not speak another word in front of Jo about such affairs without consulting me. Don’t plant any such thoughts on my little girl.”

Once his father left far away, his mother filled Stannis’s plate with two more boiled eggs. “Learn from your father, Stannis, to how not to let emotions cloud your judgments.”

“What is happening, mother? Will Jo leave us to become Queen?”

His mother laughed, patting his head. “No, my love. You and your sister are invited by the King to come to King’s Landing. In a week, you both will leave.”

“Why is father angry about it?”

His mother rolled her eyes. “He rages for anything that goes out of his control. Don’t tell your sister what I am about to say. Your sister might get betrothed to the Prince, one day. She is the closest relative for the Dragon King to choose for his son and your father will not approve to even think of it. His heart still mourns for his dead parents.”

Stannis was confused, now. “I would let her get married if she will become Queen, one day.”

“Not if you know, your mother and father’s death were because of the very family she will wed to.”

Stannis blinked, staring up at his mother, who had an easy smile just like Jo. Instead of mulling over to understand such complicated topics, he thought of getting ready for the hunt. Jocelyn already began to ride a horse, and if he begged of Ser Herbert, he might agree on providing one mare. Still, he had a long way to go, considering how his sister already had her first kill on a hare, while he would still be struggling to control the pony. He should agree on one thing. His sister was better than himself but he still loved her. Perhaps she should become the Queen one day. Brash as she was, she had a natural charm that he himself lacked.


	2. The Beggar Prince

His boots were drenched in sluggish mud and dragging his leg which was soaked till knee in flood water made him regret of fleeing from Summerhall, leaving his guards to their devices and taking this precarious path through Wendwater, all alone. Had the old man who rowed the boat doubted any Princely appearance on his face, Rhaegar would have been robbed and stabbed several thousand times, by now. Which brought back the question of his current appearance.

He was stinking… like rotten fish and even his horse, which was not currently allowing him to climb due to the stench that exuded from him, neighed, lifting its front legs if he reached a little closer. Jon Connington—the Griffin's Roost heir, who had recently joined to squire alongside Rhaegar, had warned about the upcoming Storm when Rhaegar had decided to visit the place of his birth—Summerhall. Rhaegar should have heeded his new companion's advice, after all, considering how his plan to run away became as botched up as the tragedy in Summerhall had.

The ugly truth was, despite the number of books he had succeeded in swallowing, rationality and fate often japed aloud mocking at his face, holding its fat belly in amusement, every time he attempted to try on a mission. Although, he doubted if the same fate would manage to find the beautiful Rhaegar's face, now, as Jon had once put it. It was a moniker that Rhaegar preferred no would use for addressing a growing man as him — a Prince at that.

His face was greasy, dirty, filled with grime. His hair matted, filthy with a brown shade of mud overtaking the glorious silver-gold crown that Jon had once praised. The next time if Jon ever opened his mouth to make a jape on Rhaegar's appearance in the name of showering praises, he was planning to give a clout to the boy's ear. Sometimes the boy made him uncomfortable in an odd sense, although he found the boy's heart too true amongst the crowd of lickspittles in the capital.

The flood had spoiled every plan of Rhaegar's. Everywhere, stagnant water from the recent storm was overflowing and taking a lonely journey along the Kingswoods gave no enthusiasm to Rhaegar's heart… or to his stomach.

He already lost all his coins to the boatman, to whom he had to beg, just so he and his horse would cross the other side of the Wendwater river and the old man wouldn't stop chewing sour-leaf and act deaf, until Rhaegar shoved the last of the three golden dragons that he had owned. Reluctantly the old man had shared a loaf of dry meat to last a few miles of the journey, which Rhaegar had graciously finished within two days. Perhaps he should have rationed the meat loaf. He still had almost three days to reach the capital. Gods… How did he never learn these mundane works had such life-threatening connotations. Now, Rhaegar had to hunt and feed, which proved to be a dire task for a boy of only ten name days.

He regretted of not learning to hunt. It was too gruesome for his taste. Seeing cooked food on the plate was much easier than seeing animals getting butchered bloody. Had he never found the scrolls, he wouldn't have lifted his sword in the first place.

The recollections of what he found in the scrolls, which contained century old prophecies, gave chills down his spine, even now. And everything pointed to the place of his birth, where the dragons were supposed to hatch. No dragon came… though. Only he was born, amidst salt and smoke, just as the prophecy stated, if his and Maester Uncle's predictions were anywhere close in assumptions.

He was ardent in solving that interesting puzzle in the beginning, to figure out the jumbled words and make sense out of the informations at hand. Rhaegar would run to his mother and explain in detail about what he had discovered when they would assemble for supper… until he discovered the truth of the tragedy in Summerhall. His mother had no knowledge of it. Even his Maester Uncle was unaware of the sacrifice part. Rhaegar couldn't brush it off, as he had done before and so, he had set on a mission to see it for himself, to look at the place where he was born, killing so many lives.

Only he couldn't stomach being there and accept what they did was fine, or feel… it was fine for him to live while all their lives were scorched to a crisp. He was a man now, and he wouldn't shed any tears, but would they all been alive, had he died?

Rhaegar was supposed to die. King Aegon V Targaryen had wanted to sacrifice Rhaegar's life for hatching the seven dragon eggs. Miraculously he and his mother were saved by one of the Kingsguards, and the ceremony was botched up culminating in the rest of his family burn down to ashes. He couldn't smile after learning such a tragic tale. He was not able to determine if it was in his right to live, when all those remarkable people perished in fire. Princess Rhaelle Targaryen, Prince Duncan Targaryen, and his lady-love Jenny of OldStones, King Aegon V Targaryen. Every single one of them perished in wildfire, while he remained alive and healthy. Why would the Gods save him of all the people? Was his life really worth compared to those of who would have made a difference in the lives of the small folks?

His hunger disappeared from his body, and he kept pulling the reins of his horse on the muddied road, lost in the thoughts of death and fire. When the sun finally came down, he tied the rope of his horse near a small pond and climbed on one of the fattest tree, to rest himself in peace. He didn't want to offer the life that was exchanged for all marvellous men, to a wild boar in the woods. Besides, he had been sleeping on the same wet ground for almost a week now and he wanted to dry himself at least for one night.

Along with the chirping noise of small sparrows and cuckoos, the smell of burnt bacon and hot broth made his stomach growl and grumble when he fluttered his lids. The moment his legs slipped along the bark, he gathered himself, realizing that he was still sleeping on a tree, and not in the comfort of the Red Keep.

"Did you check everywhere for any intruders?" A muscular man, who wore a golden cloak of an antlered stag, bellowed a thunderous command, making Rhaegar to almost tremble.

"There is none, milord." One of the man's guards answered.

"The horse could belong to a traveller, but it is safe to investigate again, Pate. Search for anyone who might be around this place. I don't want to risk facing a brigand now."

Rhaegar realized it was the Lord of Storm's End, Steffon Baratheon, and they were all searching for him, because he was absurd enough to tie his horse near a pond. It was nice to see noblemen after so many days, who could help him on an easy journey to the castle, but he was determined to make it on his own. Besides, none of them would recognize him, which would be another significant trouble that he would need to face after reaching the gates of Red Keep.

There were few tents in quite some distance near a sloppy high ground, and from the tree he resided, he found few men breaking their fast, while others were cooking their hunt. His mouth started drooling, and he had to hold his stomach in grief of not eating for close to two days now. Could he steal some of their food?

Climbing down, he took careful steps to not get caught and frequently hid behind the thick trees and bushes, spying for any intruders, now and again, when he started searching for the fireplace where they might have left some food. To his disappointment, three fireplaces had only embers and ashes in its leave, not even a bone to devour. He gave up. This mission was a disaster, and he might even lose his horse, at this rate.

When he walked back to the tree, though, a squeaking noise emerged from a bush obliging him to investigate. To his joy, a hare snare had caught a fat hare, and he would have screamed had he not been under cover. His shivering fingers gingerly lifted his alive breakfast, which planned to run for its life, but he held it in his palms, saying a prayer to the Gods. The strenuous part would be killing. He had never killed and now…

"So, you are the burglar my father is worrying about?" A girl's voice came from behind and he would have faced her, had her steel was not kissing his neck.

"I am not a burglar, my lady."

"Oh, You aren't?" She pressed the blade little closer. "Then why are you stealing my food?"

"Your food?" He pondered, and when the hare squealed he sighed for being a nitwit. "I was hungry and found the snare…"

"If you take food from other's snare, it is called stealing, stupid boy." She chided but carefully removed her dagger from his neck.

"Jo, what are you doing? Don't take out your dagger until I bring father." This was a boy's voice, and Rhaegar regretted when she pressed the steel again to his neck.

"You will be the lord of Storm's End one day, Stannis. Tell me what is the punishment for stealing." The girl named Jo asked her brother in curiosity. It seemed the girl didn't know what the punishment was in the first place.

"Chopping off two of the fingers and more, if the extent of crime is severe."

"Two fingers? Poor lad…" She sighed, relaxing her arm and Rhaegar hurried away from them too fast, but not fast enough when he fell ridiculously into another pile of stagnant water, earning a thunderous laughter from the fair lady who later walked towards him and offered a hand. "Here, take this…"

Although humiliated of being laughed at while falling into dirty water, he felt calmly relaxed taking the help of the little lady who should be Lord Steffon's daughter, if his memory served right about the name of his heir, Stannis Baratheon.

"Jo, you can't help these people. If father finds out that we came here to this secluded woods alone and speaking with a burglar-"

"He is not a burglar, idiot. He is a beggar." Jo chided his brother, and that was even more insulting than being called a burglar.

"Beggar or not… if he tried to steal-" The boy was stating the laws of punishment like he had swallowed a law book, but the girl behaved as if she didn't hear a word of her brother's ranting.

"Does the horse belong to you?" Jo asked, cutting the rope that was tied to the hare and the snare. When Rhaegar nodded, contemplating of fleeing without getting caught, she offered him the food. "I laid the snare last night before setting camp. But we already broke our fast with our lord father. Turnip stew and fried bacon. So, you can have the food if you are desperate."

"You behave like a ludicrous moron, Jo! If this wretched boy stabs you–"

"I won't stab anyone, my lord." Rhaegar snapped before collecting the food, which was alive and breathing. "And the lady is no moron, if I may correct you. She is generous…" Jo laughed, holding her stomach, and even Rhaegar couldn't stop that thin smile which started curving his lips along the corner but Jo's brother didn't like it and he started seething and stomping his foot in frustration, before he left the place. "Will he bring your Lord Father?"

"Nah… He is probably hiding behind some tree, spying on you. He won't leave me, if he feels threatened that I am in some danger."

"I am not a danger…" Rhaegar refuted, although he didn't know why. When he scanned the place though, another bush ruffled its leaf, like the one where the hare snare was present and when he focused, the boy's satin black velvet cloth was clearly visible between the cracks. Rhaegar had no siblings and his sister Shaena died in her cradle, for him to play and dote on younger ones but when he found them both, doing a mischievous stunt, he felt so lonelier than before. His mother was carrying another child now, perhaps, soon he would get a sister like Jo or a brother like Stannis, both of which would be ridiculous to have, still, having them would be a company than being alone.

"No… You are in danger, beggar. Eat the food and leave this place, else, my father's hounds will hunt you down and tear your throat." Jo made cruel faces of dangerous hounds with claws pointing in air, and he chuckled before petting his food.

"Are you a true lady or did you steal the actual lady's garments and roaming around in disguise?"

"Are you true beggar or did you steal a beggar's garments? Instead of killing your food, you are petting it." She snatched the breathing, alive hare from his hand, and in a nice clean cut, she slit its throat in a blink of his eyes. "Do you know to skin a hare?" Her authoritative tone made him actually feel like a beggar than a Prince and when he shook his head, she became a teacher. "My Lord Father would never allow me to skin, but I have watched him do it a thousand times." She said and started meticulously removing the fur from its body.

It appeared too easy, like removing a tunic, but Rhaegar realized the entire process was arduous to follow. When he looked at the snare she had made, the technicality itself made his head to swirl. "Does your lord father take you for hunting?"

"Yeah… This hunting dagger is my nameday gift from him but he wouldn't let me use it, though. He thinks I will cut my hand." Jo pouted, and he grinned with the way she was experimenting on his food. Once she cleaned out the entrails, she picked the stick from the snare and pierced it all the way into the body. "Now, your food is ready. You can make a fire and cook it."

"Thank you, my lady. I have nothing to offer in return, but I assume you are going to the Capital. Perhaps I will get something for you, there."

"You don't just have mud on your face but on your head too." She laughed again, unceremoniously. "We are going to meet the King, the Queen and the Prince." She had the excitement of a child who had its hand full of candies. "The Royal guards will not allow you inside the Red Keep and don't mention my name, else, my Lady mother will flog my ass."

Rhaegar never heard a lady speak so crude like this girl, all the more he felt much more comfortable than the women at court who would look at him like a piece of meat to throw into their daughters' bed. "I will not cause any trouble, in that case. Still, I must insist that, if you chance to meet upon me, you should accept the return gift."

"Even if I meet, it will be hard for me to recognize your toad face that you are hiding beneath this dirt, beggar."

"Perhaps, a Prince is what hiding, my lady." She gave a thunderous laugh, her girl charm all too sweet flushing out, and he offered the smile back. "If you don't believe, kiss the toad and see if I am turning into a Prince."

He didn't mean it, but the girl didn't shy away. The very next moment, she gave him a soft kiss on his dirty cheek and fled from there with giggles and laughter. "You are still a toad, beggar!" She screamed and disappeared into air. Oh, he couldn't wait to see her mud-eaten face after reaching the castle. But before all that, he decided to devour the food, as his stomach was screaming to put something inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is subtly dedicated for Viserys, the beggar King!!! Had Rhaegar never lost in the trident...


End file.
